‘Corporal!’ called Tchaba by way of answer. The man who responded was wiry and slight. His face looked as though it had been clawed by angry leopards.
‘This is Corporal Sani Abiye,’ said Tchaba. ‘He is the best jungle man in the regiment. If I send anyone, it will be Corporal Abiye.’
‘You know you will have to send someone,’ persisted Richard. ‘Miss Asov is a close friend of Celine Chaka, who is perhaps the next president. She’s a national heroine after killing Moses Nlong. You can be certain she’s gone into the forest after the other Russians — and Odem. You have to check at the very least.’
Robin was at breakfast. The sound of the chopper warming up gave her a good idea of what was going on and the look on Richard’s face as he strode between the tables told her everything else she needed to know. ‘They’re going after her,’ she said. ‘And I take it you’re going with them.’
He sat down opposite her. ‘Look, darling,’ he said, his bright blue gaze burning into hers. ‘The last time Anastasia went off the rails it was you who pulled her out. You got her up from the gutter in Moscow, into rehab and into the recovery programme. Now it’s my turn. I’ll stay with Corporal Abiye and his men. I won’t take unnecessary risks, I promise. Then I’ll watch her back if we find her and I’ll bring her back out if I can. Besides,’ he cajoled. ‘Abiye is Yoruba for born to live forever. What’s the worst that can happen?’
Richard had attended every one of Mako’s briefings possible and he felt confident that he was up to speed with the requirements of armaments and equipment, with the rules and expectations and the basics of jungle warfare.
Until the Super Puma lifted off and left him standing with Corporal Abiye and his ten-man squad on the scimitar-shaped tongue of black mud last visited by the Zubrs. And, presumably, by Anastasia’s Zodiac RIB, though there was no sign of the inflatable vessel any more than there was of Stalingrad, which was presumably patrolling somewhere further upstream. Nor, as he looked around the set, scarred faces of the Poro-trained jungle experts, was there any sign of kit or survival equipment — anything much other than the guns, grenades and matchets they all carried. Except for the two beefiest, who also shouldered MANPADS man portable missile systems. Previous experience with the Benin La Bas army had made Richard expect headphones and a central comms set. But no. Abiye was clearly going to do this the traditional Poro way.
The corporal squatted on the balls of his feet with his SA80 across his knees, leaning the weight of his forearms on the weapon as he studied the tracks and footprints on the driest surface at the crest of the mud bank. He spoke rapidly, making no allowance for Richard’s shaky grasp of the local language. ‘The footprints all head into the forest,’ he observed, his quiet voice as ravaged as his scarred cheeks. ‘Two sets. Russians, heel-down with heavy backpacks and lots of equipment. Going with confidence; returning with dead and wounded. The effects of the hovercraft lift-off over the top of those. Then another set of Russians again, still overloaded but a lot less confident. On the balls of their feet — almost tiptoeing.
‘Then the second set: lighter, over the top of everything else, laden on one shoulder only. Recent. Only just beginning to dry. The children, carrying their rigid inflatable boat. They’ll want to have hidden it carefully, I suspect, as it is their only line of retreat. Let’s see how good they are. If we find it, then they’re nowhere near good enough.’
But the tracks of Anastasia’s Amazons that the corporal followed so confidently at first vanished at the edge of the forest, which seemed interesting to Richard and instructive to the men he was with, because the Russians’ tracks remained all too easy to follow, both before and after they had been caught by the improvised explosive device Odem had wrapped around the unfortunate Brodski. Richard remained uncharacteristically quiet as the patrol spread out to search among the trees, challenged by Abiye’s observation to find the Zodiac. But it seemed to him that the Russians’ tracks were the ones to follow in any case. Now that they were certain Anastasia was here, these would be the tracks she would be following herself. And after ten minutes of searching they knew that they were wasting their time looking for the Zodiac.
They hardly needed to follow the tracks through the giant ferns between the enormous tree trunks to the clearing where Odem’s trap had sprung. The smell would have let them follow their noses. Corporal Abiye stopped them well back from the edge of the clearing. A few silent flicks of his hands spread them out so that the only people in anything like proximity to each other were Abiye and Richard himself. Only when he was certain his men were in position did the corporal step forward. Richard went with him — until another silent gesture halted him. But he was able to make out the killing ground clearly: the shattered stump where Brodski must have hung, still perhaps five metres high. The sphere of withering destruction that resulted in a circle of blackened debris on the ground — all of it alive with insects; some of it iridescent with beautiful blue-winged butterflies. The column of blast damage reaching up and up the towering tree trunks into the shattered branches, splintered twigs and decimated leaves hundreds of feet above. Abiye gestured again, stepping silently back. The rest of the command coalesced soundlessly out of the shadows, becoming visible only as they drew near. The corporal gave an infinitesimal gesture with his head and led them off around the bomb site, following the upward inclination of the ground beneath his feet as they began to follow the path of the black river.
They picked up the Russians’ track again immediately. Richard reckoned he could have followed it himself without any special Poro training. There were clear footprints pushed into the leaf mould between the hacked banks of fern. And every now and then, in spite of what Mako no doubt would have wished, scorched patches where the men had jungled up something to eat or drink. Soon enough, Abiye was also able to point silently with the tip of his matchet to half-buried, fly-covered piles of excrement and paper where the men had relieved themselves at the side of their path.
But it was only Richard’s blind faith which kept him certain that Anastasia and her Amazons were following Max’s men. For where the Russians left an abundance of signs, Anastasia’s command left none. Nor did Abiye’s, and for much the same reason. None of them was heavily laden. Even Richard was carrying nothing more than a water bottle, a backpack, his phone and his weapons. The soldiers were dressed in uniform trousers, vests and headgear. Richard’s thornproof slacks, shirt and waisted bush jacket made him feel overdressed. But he seemed to have chosen well in the matter of high-sided boots into which his trouser cuffs were tucked. On the other hand, he was the only one bareheaded — in spite of the fact that sunlight was a distant memory kept out by the thickening canopy that spread ever higher above.
They kept inland of the Russians’ route along the river bank and Richard at first wondered why — but then, as the sounds of rushing waters gathered into the first series of rapids, Abiye’s logic became clear — distance from the noisy water made the jungle sounds easier to hear. Not that there were many. Especially as the invisible sun so far above them rose to its overpowering zenith. Every surface was suddenly running with condensation, as though the entire jungle was sweating. In his shirt and jacket, Richard found it hard to breathe. His heat-assaulted mind began to fantasize that the amount of perspiration soaked up by his inappropriate clothes was actually weighing him down.
Abiye did not call a halt as they marched silently up the steepening hillside. He simply gestured, and his command spread like shadows into the jungle once more. Richard doggedly focused on the corporal’s scrawny shoulders and sweat-soaked T-shirt vest, paying no attention to the fact that they were suddenly all but alone. A glance over his shoulder, however, assured him that the men carrying the portable missiles were still close behind, seemingly as fiercely focused on his back as he was on the corporal’s.